The fourth item
by GeriSmith
Summary: Lord Voldemort continues his search for heirlooms of the founders of Hogwarts. This search leads him to a house on a deserted moor...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

The sky was black with clouds. They blocked out any light that the powerful sun beyond them might have thrown down onto the wild beauty of the Moors. Rain threatened at any moment, and the wind seemed not to howl, but to scream like a banshee - a death cry.

As the thunder cracked and the lightening ripped the sky in two, causing the heavens to open, a figure even darker appeared in the frozen wasteland. The rain began to fall in icy torrents, hard and cold enough to hurt. But if the figure felt this pain, he ignored it. He just stood, staring across the Moor, searching for something. He turned on the spot, still searching. The figure lifted his arm and swept it downward in a violent gesture. As though following his command lightening flashed through the sky again, illuminating the landscape.

For a split second the outline of a house was visible in the distance, a large, bare tree just by it.

The figure immediately set off in the direction of the house. A particularly strong gust of wind followed by another flash of lightening threw back the hood of the figure's cloak and illuminated his face. He had a handsome face; pale, clear skin and jet-black hair. His eyes though, were what stood out. They were dark, and yet, they seemed to gleam. Even in the enclosing darkness, a red glow seemed to linger.

The figure neared his destination. Recognising the tree that the lightening had also illuminated, and ignoring the cries from birds that the tree held, the figure pressed on at a quicker pace. He soon reached the grounds of the house and stood silently surveying what was before him. A large, grey-stoned wall ran around the edge of the property. There was only one break in this wall; the entrance. Framed by high, statue-topped pillars sat a large wrought-iron gate. Fearsome enough given the surroundings, but made more so by the coat of arms which hung high up in the centre. The arms showed only one motif, a large bird, species unknowable in the dark and the rain. Its beak was slightly open and its wings spread impressively to fill the shield it was upon.

The man smiled. It was a cold, greedy smile, which stripped his face of all the handsomeness it contained. Slowly, the man moved forward. He did not touch the gates, but rather seemed to caress the air which hung just before them. He stepped to the side and did the same along a small section of the wall. He moved and did the same on the other side of the gate.

His expression changed. He still smiled, but it was not the greedy, almost terrifying one he had held just moments before. It had turned to something strange, as though he was impressed and proud. Gracefully he reached inside his cloak and withdrew a long stick; very gently he tapped the coat of arms, noticing for the first time that where the bird's eye should have been there lay a large blue stone.

The man had expected the emblem on the shield before him to move, and so was surprised when one of the other large stone creatures he had failed to notice on top of the stone pillars spoke instead.

"The Mistress of the house says that she has been expecting you, though she hasn't the faintest idea of who you are. If you give your name you may pass, if you do not wish too, then leave, for you shall not enter."

The man recovered from his surprise quickly, feeling he should have realised that it would be the statue which spoke, like so many were enchanted to.

"Your mistress wishes my name does she," the man said, a chuckle escaping over his lips as he spoke. He found it highly amusing that someone should demand to know his name.

The stone creature remained silent, as he knew it would.

Smiling widely, as though something amazingly funny were going on the man answered. "Of course she may know my name, if that is all she desires." He cleared his throat. "My name," he said quietly, "is Lord Voldemort."

Silence. The rain seemed to suddenly stop. Even the wind disappeared. In the hush the only sound that could be heard was that of the Iron Gate creaking open.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two 

The moment Lord Voldemort stepped inside the large stone house he raised his wand at himself and muttered a spell. His soaked clothing became dry in an instant, the water that streamed down his face vanished. Only his dark hair remained damp. He knew that he was handsome, and that for his hair to be wet and falling in his eyes as it did so now would only add to his appearance. An appearance, which coupled with charm and wit, he knew, could get him many things. Access to many things.

He smiled as he thought of the way he had used his looks only a year ago, while passing his time at Borgin and Burkes. Smiled at the foolishness of the old women, the simplicity of the execution of his plan. Smiled at the weight in his pocket of his rightful property.

The cup of Hufflepuff he did not carry with him, nor had he used either of the items for what he had them planned for. He had already locked two parts of himself away – one a diary kept hidden and safe, the other another heirloom. Lord Voldemort was confident in the safety of these especial items, and pleased that the incantation had worked, though he had decided not to test the theory until he had all seven horcruxes. The only thing he found troublesome about these two was that neither deaths used to achieve them had seemed momentous, they were no challenge. Surely, he reasoned with himself, the horcrux made would be even more powerful should the death that split the soul be so great?

That was why he had not used the old woman's death to create another. She claimed to be of noble descent, but she was tainted, he was sure, and neither powerful nor strong. Yes, he had decided that only the deaths of the greatest would he use to create his horcruxes, and only the objects of the powerful.

A year ago Tom Riddle had disappeared and now only Lord Voldemort stood in his place. And Lord Voldemort had found another piece to add to his collection.

"Welcome to Ravencroft my Lord Voldemort," a clear, deep voice said softly behind him.

Voldemort turned to face a young woman standing on sweeping stairs framed by a large arched window. Her gleaming mahogany brown hair fell gently around her face and stopped mid-way down her back. She had bright ice-blue eyes and a full bee-stung mouth. She wore delicate robes of an older fashion which were a softer blue and clung to her figure. Power hung in the air around her, unseeable, untouchable but there.

Voldemort felt this power. It tickled his skin and tantalised his mind. The woman before him could be no more than a year older than himself, and yet she was as, if not more, powerful as himself. Voldemort gave the lady and intriguing half-smile, wondering whether he had finally met a challenge worthy of him.

The woman descended the stairs, swinging her hips seductively. Voldemort noted the movement with both interest and the same cold logic a hunter uses when dealing with his prey. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she continued to the left and headed through a large polished oak door.

Voldemort followed her into a room, sparsely furnished but still rich. There was a large roaring fire opposite the door with two large cushioned chairs on opposite sides a small table between the two with a decanter and two glasses on top. The woman was already seated and gestured for Voldemort to take the other chair.

For a moment they sat, silently regarding each other in the firelight. Then the woman spoke.

"I'd introduce myself, but as you're here I'm assuming you already know who I am." Her voice seemed to be laced with suggestion, Voldemort recognised skill in the voice.

"Yes," he said simply. "You are Felicity Triffen, the only one left of your family I believe. And of course," he added as though an afterthought, "the last surviving direct descendant of the great witch, Rowena Ravenclaw."

Felicity's eyes widened in surprise at the last piece of information, Voldemort also detected fear and a little bit of panic. He was sure she could sense his power as he could sense hers and it thrilled him to have such an effect.

"You're shocked." It was a statement Voldemort made quietly, enjoying the effect his words had had on the woman. Her confidence had left her for a moment. He knew that she would be reassessing him.

"You're powerful." Her statement mirrored his, but while amusement lingered in Voldemort's face, in Felicity's there was none. "To even find this house shows you have ability, and a brain to go with it. But to discover that much…My family has gone to a lot of trouble to hide who we are and where we are. From wizards and muggles alike."

"Yes, but you did choose a very weak secret keeper." The red gleam was there in his eyes again. "She did not have a high pain tolerance." An evil laugh escaped his lips.

Felicity narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?" She demanded. In a flash she was standing over him, wand drawn. The power Voldemort had felt on the stairs washed over him again – angry and hot.

"I told you, I am Lord Voldemort." He said, looking up into her eyes. "I had also planned to be your killer, once of course I had what I wanted from you. But now I wonder…power like yours would be foolish to waste. I'm intrigued." He stood now, moved forward "Fascinated". He came so close to her she could feel the heat from his body.

Her breathing became ragged. He pushed her wand arm down to her side and skilfully slid the wand from between her fingers. In a breath she heard him.

"Drawn."

Cold lips met hers fully for the briefest of moments. She jerked her head away and gazed up at him. Voldemort smiled as she looked into his eyes.

Images suddenly flashed inside Felicity's head – her family heirlooms, where they were now. She heard Voldemort whisper something and then… blackness. She passed out in the arms of Lord Voldemort.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Voldemort felt slightly disappointed, he had expected something far more complex than the jinx's he found on the locked safe in the cellar of the old house. The door swung open with a creak. Inside there was a thick layer of dust which almost hid from sight the small package within it. Carefully, Voldemort extracted the package. Gently, with baited breath he opened it. Inside he saw himself, a slightly blurred reflection. Voldemort extracted the ancient mirror carefully. It was framed with blue marble and nestled at the top was a sapphire. Voldemort ran his hands over the object, he felt the double R under his fingers at the bottom of the frame. He let out a high, cold mirthless laugh. He slipped the mirror into his cloak pocket and swiftly made his way back up stairs.

Felicity was still unconscious, slumped in one of the chairs in the drawing room. Voldemort's smile increased as he entered the room and found the fire had been stoked. Either the house elves were not aware of any foul play, or did not care. Laughing softly Voldemort moved over to Felicity. He pointed his wand at her and muttered, "Enervate".

Instantly Felicity's eyes flew open and she sat up straight. Her hands went to her head and she began to rub it, as though it would help her remember. It seemed to take a moment for her to collect herself and register Lord Voldemort's presence.

She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. "So," she said, her voice still had not lost its silky seductiveness, "I assume you have what you came to steal."

Voldemort smiled at her and carefully laid her wand down on the table between the two chairs.

"Yes," the way he acknowledged his actions chilled Felicity slightly, "but now I have found something else of interest; namely you, and I have been wondering whether or not I should invite you to join my little…group of friends." Voldemort suppressed a laugh as Felicity eyed her wand and the door. He felt sure that if she could, she would use her wand to kill him, or at least try. It was one of the things he felt drawn to in her. One of the things he felt he needed if his plan were to succeed – a mind ready to kill for revenge. However, Voldemort also felt sure that he had interested her, and after all, power attracts power.

Felicity smiled provocatively at him. "Why?" She said simply. "What have you got planned for that trinket in your pocket? For Slytherin's trinket?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The smile on Lord Voldemort's face flickered, just for a moment. Felicity slowly and carefully lifted herself from the floor and stood before him.

"It can work both ways," she paused, "my _Lord_."

The sarcasm in her voice made his blood run hot. But he controlled his temper. The only sign of a change in his emotion came from the way that his smile slipped from his face.

"It is no trinket. Just as the mirror of Rowena Ravenclaw is no trinket. This locket" he pulled the heavy ornament out of his robes "belonged to one of the greatest wizards the world as ever known. Greater still for his ideology…"

"Assuming you believe such stories" Felicity interjected.

"You attended Hogwarts, though no one knew who you were. You must remember the whisperings about Slytherin's heir, about Slytherin's monster. And you must have heard about the awful death of that muggle girl." Voldemort's face split into a grin at the very memory of it. That had truly been a moment to savour.

Felicity's face was a mixture of emotion – fear could be seen in her quavering lips, but interest could be seen in her eyes, interest mixed with excitement. "You're Slytherin's heir."

Voldemort didn't respond but let the statement hang in the air.

Minutes passed. No sound could be heard. Even the wind seemed to be at bay, though it was more likely a spell placed over the house.

"And you're Ravenclaw's heir, and truly worthy of the name, unlike our Hufflepuff equivalents." He walked over to the fire, staring into it, lost in his own world. "Imagine what we could do. How you could help me?" The fire reflected in his dark eyes creating the horrifying illusion that his eyes were black with raw flame for pupils.

"What would I help you do?" Felicity asked.

"Simply – take over the world." He turned to face her. "Cleanse it of the mud-blood scum who force us to hide, to try to take our powers, our rights. Make the magical world the only world."

There was a passion in his voice, and it thrilled Felicity, almost as much as it revolted her.

"With you at the head?" She inquired.

Voldemort seemed to leer at her. "Oh yes! Immortal. Undefeatable. And absolute."

"You sound mad."

"I'm perfectly sane."

"And you want me to help you?"

"You can't stop me Felicity," her name rolled off his tongue, and seemed to slither around her body. "But you can join me."

"At your side?"

Voldemort ran his eyes over her. He raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps."

He had moved forward, was so close she could feel the heat from his body. The power rolled off him and seemed to caress her. She felt intoxicated by it all.

His power. His warmth. His handsomeness. She had felt an attraction when she'd seen him. And for some reason his repulsive world-vision seemed to entice her more.

Her mind flicked back to the kiss of only an hour ago.

"Join me Felicity," he whispered as his lip hovered over hers. "Join my Death-Eaters and help restore wizard-kind to the place they deserve. Become greater than Rowena. You could you know, out-do your famous ancestor. You're already more beautiful. Become part of me."

Felicity felt almost dizzy. For a second she wondered who Death Eaters were before she felt his cold lips on hers. She fell into his kiss, and spent the night in his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

It was early. Maybe four o'clock. It was still dark. Lord Voldemort was awake. He had been watching the fire. Now he turned and looked at Felicity, naked underneath her crumpled robes. He smiled to himself.

Another conquest.

And he didn't mean as a lover. Voldemort had always been able to win friends and favour, but now he was finding that his abilities were bringing him followers. Wizards and witches who would die carrying out his work. And now another one. An extremely powerful one. But an extremely lonely one.

He had sensed that in her. Lonely, and hungry for her own place in the world. If he had to promise her an equal place with him so be it. Promises can be easily broken, and she could be so useful until he had to kill her.

Carefully Voldemort got up and dressed himself. The mirror and the locket were carefully stowed in one of the pockets, safe from harm. He sat and poured himself a glass of wine, considering his next step. The girl needed to be used. Perhaps he could place her somewhere in the ministry. Her skill and lineage would open many doors, maybe even the Department of Mysteries. As for himself, he had to find something of Godric Gryffindor's – which was going to be easier said than done.

As Lord Voldemort sat musing time passed, Felicity began to stir. Slowly she opened her eyes. She sat up and jumped at seeing Voldemort, part of her had thought it all a dream. She smiled and moved over to him.

"Good morning," she purred.

Voldemort ignored her. He had important things to think about. Felicity moved closer. She put her arms around him and moved in to kiss. Voldemort pushed her away. Anger flashed in his eyes.

"Do not touch me." He ordered, and then resumed his thoughts.

Felicity sat, cold and uncomfortable she felt foolish. She reached for her clothes.

"I want you to join the ministry for magic." Voldemort suddenly said. "I think it would be most advantageous to have a contact inside the ministry." He glanced up at the grand gilt-gold clock on the mantle-piece. "But first you must come with me." And evil grin slipped across his face. "I think a train wreck may happen in a couple of hours."

Felicity felt her stomach lurch. The repulsion she had felt but ignored the night before flooded her. And the way he spoke – ordering her. Last night it had seemed as though she knew him, was his equal. The man in her sitting room no longer seemed warm and strong, and – the world forgive her – right. He seemed cold, and malevolent. All the handsomeness in his face gone and replaced by evil. Felicity felt sick.

"No thank you." She said, trying to muster her dignity. "I don't recall ever agreeing to join your group, and I don't intend to. I ask you to leave my house, and return my property."

Felicity stared straight into his eyes. This time Legilimency would not work, she was ready.

Voldemort stood up slowly.

"That is extremely unpleasant news." He took out his wand and twirled it. "But nothing that would upset my plans. Is this your final words?"

Felicity didn't say anything. She didn't like his use of words.

They stood staring at each other for a moment.

"Accio wand!" Felicity screamed flinging herself behind a chair as Voldemort yelled "Crucio".

The spell missed and Felicity's wand landed flatly in her hand. Flinging her arm in the air she aimed blindly and shrieked "Expelliarmus" and heard as is bounced off Voldemort's shield.

"Reducto" he almost whispered, blowing the chair she was hiding behind to pieces.

Felicity rolled, and stood. "Stupefy".

Blocked.

"Stupefy" Voldemort hissed back. Felicity blocked the jinx and flew the same one back.

Voldemort quickly twisted to one side missing the jinx and bringing his wand up to strike. "Crucio" he cried.

Felicity feel to her knees screaming. The pain racked her body and seemed unbearable. She was crying, and soiling herself. Unable to think of anything but the pain.

Voldemort stood over her. He felt nothing as he watched the woman he had made love to hours before writhe with pain on the floor. He contemplated using the imperius curse. But that might be too suspicious.

Voldemort flicked his wand ending the woman's pain. "I know you think you won't help me, and it's a shame to waste your power, even though it's not as strong as mine," he whispered into her ear. "But think on this – you're about to help me take a step closer to immortality."

Felicity gasped and tried to reach her wand. Voldemort plucked it off the floor and place it inside his robes. He took out the Ravenclaw mirror as he did so.

"You really are beautiful and powerful, Felicity, and you would have been an asset. Goodbye."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Voldemort aimed his wand, muttered "averda kedavra" and watched as a green flash ripped the life from Felicity's body.

He then held the mirror steadily in his hand and concentrated. Slowly, silent words began to form on his lips. He felt a great pain, like someone ripping out his heart, course through him from his head to his feet. He continued to chant. A dark light – if such a thing exists – seemed to appear and explode then fall into the mirror.

Lord Voldemort fell to his knees gasping and trembling. Sweat dripped off him. He crawled over to the table and gulped more wine. The soothing red liquid restored him somewhat.

He took several deep breaths then stood up. He surveyed the room, thinking. Felicity was dead. Surely something which would go unnoticed. In the distance he heard movement – house elves? Possibly.

Voldemort ran his hand over the fine mirror, sensing how familiar it now seemed. He made up his mind. Without looking he aimed his wand at the fire and muttered a charm.

As he left the house he was faintly aware of the high screams of House-elves. Smiling to himself Voldemort strode out across the moor to where he had appeared the night before. Unlike then there was no rain. The sun was beginning to shine, reflecting his mood. The only thing that bothered him was how his charisma had seemed only to momentarily attract Felicity. He made a mental note to remember that his followers should be shown…was it love? Close enough. Should be shown love until he had instilled fear and loyalty in them.

Voldemort reached his desired place of departure and took one final look at Ravencroft. The smoke was rising high into the air, the flames standing out against the grey stone. Smiling Voldemort raised his wand to disaparate, eagerly anticipating his next venture with Avery along the Aberdeen-London line.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Dumbledore surveyed the wreckage around him. Everything was black. There was nothing left but black. He felt a wave of sadness pass over him as he saw what might be small, blackened bones. "Who could do such a thing?" he muttered to himself, sweeping his greying brown hair out of the rubble.

"Mr, er, Professor Dumbledore, sir?" a young ministry wizard asked nervously. "Did you know the, er, deceased?"

"Yes, I knew her father. Said I would keep an eye on her. When I heard about…" Dumbledore waved his hand over the wreckage.

"Um, sir, any help would be much appreciated." The wizard looked young.

"I don't know who would want to hurt Miss Triffen."

"Well the statue, what's left of it, managed to tell us that a handsome man, with" another wizard came up and began flicking through a notebook, "dark hair, pale skin, and, but this can't be right, red eyes came by. Apparently said he was some kind of Lord."

Dumbledore frowned at this. "A Lord?" he repeated, to himself more than anyone.

"Does that sound familiar to you sir?"

Dumbledore studied the ground. "I suppose we'll never know if anything was taken."

"You suspect thieves?"

"No. Not exactly" Dumbledore frowned "Well gentlemen I really must be going. I have classes to teach."

"Of course sir," the young wizard jumped out of his way as Dumbledore strode off.

The other wizard muttered something and followed.

"You're holding something back?" he said defiantly to Dumbledore's back.

"It may be something, but I have no evidence. Maybe one day it will be something." Dumbledore said turning to face the ministry wizard.

"Sir, Professor Dumbledore. I think this was deliberate murder, which means there's a very dangerous man out there." The wizard looked at Dumbledore determinedly. "And if you know something about that then you must tell me. For the woman and elves that died here if for nothing else."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment.

"What's your name?" He asked, the wizard's face was familiar, but he could not quite remember the name.

"Moody. Alastor Moody."

Dumbledore nodded, "Not know Mr Moody. Alastor. Soon. Now is a time for mourning."

Alastor Moody nodded solemnly and turned back to the ruins.

Dumbledore walked out into the surrounding fields to disapparate. He felt cold. Felicity Triffen had been powerful, only an extremely powerful wizard could have killed her. Dumbledore knew all wizards who fell into that category, but there was one who might…Dumbledore shook his head, pushing the thought away. Yet he could not suppress the sense of dread that flooded through him as he saw the blackened spot on the horizon.


End file.
